the sliding door

Righteous JammerRighteous Jammer Posts: 509
edited September 2005 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
With candles lit
I watched her
from my back porch

The way she
lit her cigarette
Running her other
hand through
that sandy hair
I hated when that cigarette was gone

She goes inside
For whats inside
I dont know
It doesnt hurt.... when I bleed
but memories...they eat me
I've seen it all before,...
bring it on cause I'm no victim.
-Ghost
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